Last of the Line
by Lover of Angelus
Summary: Maybe he could just lie down and sleep. Sleep forever. He'll sleep and he'll dream of the better days - the days before Mom's death and Dad's crusade and Sam's always leaving. CHARACTER DEATHS. LANGUAGE.


**Title **: Last of the Line

**Disclaimer **: Me no own, You no sue.

**Warning **: Character deaths

**Note **: Future!fic; AU second season.

-z-

"Do you know what it's like?" Dean leaned forward, trying to convey his horror to the detective. "Do you? Do you know what it means to tell a little boy that the thing in his closet is real? To tell a little girl that the thing that took her daddy wasn't a figment of her imagination?!"

The detective's mouth opened and closed, his brow furrowed. Dean continued, his voice rising with each word,

"Have you ever seen the eyes of a mother who's only child has been stolen by a creature that isn't even supposed to be real? Every week, for the past twenty-nine years, it's some one else who has to learn that there are things out there that can't be explained. That there are things out there that even the worst of their nightmares couldn't touch!"

Dean leaned back, rubbed his hands over his face. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet.

"I'm tired, detective. So tired. With Sammy--" Dean shut his eyes tight and his breath hitched in his throat. "With Sammy gone, there is no reason to keep going."

"At the motel, did you want us to kill you?"

"Honestly? Yes."

The detective nodded. Glancing down at a piece of paper he said, "You'll be transferred to St. Louis tomorrow morning. Knowing those guys, they'll be pushing for the death penalty."

"No, thanks," Dean smiled half-hearted. "If you try to transfer me, I'll take off."

"We'll see about that," a woman with a file in her hand appeared at the door.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head and saying nothing else.

"Thomas," the woman nodded at the detective. "I've got something else for you," she waved the files around.

-

"Sir?" the voice was hoarse and panicked.

"What happened?!" Detective Thomas felt something in his chest tighten.

"Dean Winchester, sir," the man on the end of the line groaned wearily, "sir, he got away. We managed to wound him, but he - damn, he's got a pair of legs on him!"

Thomas let out a dry chuckle and turned to his partner. "Well," he disconnected the call, "you just had to challenge him, did you?"

"The Winchester escaped?" her eyebrows shot up.

"I wonder how many others have said the same thing," Thomas chuckled again and put his head in his hands.

-

Dean let himself bleed on the bed. Maybe he could die due to loss of blood. Maybe he could rob a convenience store or a bank, he'll have hostages and everything, and, at the end of a five-hour standoff, he'll raise the gun to kill someone, except the magazine will be empty - but the cops won't have to know that and they'll kill him to "save the innocent man."

If there is something that all Dean's years of Hunting has taught him about humans, it's that no one is innocent, everyone has a dark secret kept buried deep within the soul.

Dean needs to go down fighting. However, he's old now. Thirty three is a long lifespan for any Hunter and he's in the Hall of Fame. With Sammy gone, the weight of the world has never pressed down this hard.

Maybe he could just lie down and sleep. Sleep forever. He'll sleep and he'll dream of the better days - the days before Mom's death and Dad's crusade and Sam's always leaving.

-

Dean let himself bleed on the bed. And then he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

When he woke up, Sam was there in all his glory. He doesn't say anything just smiles his perfect smile and jerks his head at the door, keys jingling in his hand. Dean feels himself smirk as he gets up. That's when he notices he's not in pain anymore. Confused, he looks down at his bed for the blood he knows is supposed to be there.

Dean's eyebrows shot up. There's blood, alright, and lots of it. And a body. A body with Dean's sleeping face.

Dean just throws his head back and laughs; Sam laughs with him.

-z-


End file.
